Of Nails and Nailing
by Cold Gentlemen
Summary: Byakuya/Kenpachi. Be warned for violence and rough m/m sex.


Title: Of Nails and Nailing  
Fandom: Bleach  
Pairing: Byakuya/Kenpachi  
Rating: NC-17  
Warnings: explicit m/m sex, rough sex, frottage, violence.

To say 'we will blame it on the rain' would be a terrible irresponsibility. There was rain. It fell like a storm of arrows, individual droplets so concentrated it seemed a sheet of water. Within seconds the heavy silk of their shihakusho were soaked to their skins, and the bells in Zaraki Kenpachi's hair glistened brightly with captured droplets and rang again and again, soft melodic chimes amid the whispered roar of the rain.

It would have been natural to duck and run for the nearest building, standing under the eaves until the rain passed. Neither of them moved. Kenpachi's bandaged chest began to run with reddish water, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Conspicuously, the iron weight of his reiatsu occasionally sparked electrically over Byakuya's skin, crossing spiritual blades with the icy sharp explosion of Byakuya's own half-controlled energy.

They did not look at each other. Both of them kept their eyes fixed upon the horizon. Byakuya was trapped in the moments of the past and could not escape a feeling of helpless defilement, as if he had been stained forever by the choices and promises that had created such a maze in his mind. He stood, glittering in the rain. Kenpachi sat, his scored and chipped zanpakutou naked before him. His thoughts were possibly on the fights he had survived and the fights to come, for just this once a sense of greater tranquility hung over Zaraki than Kuchiki.

Then Zaraki spoke, his gravelly tones emerging from the edge of a crooked smile. "I heard you lost. First time, huh? I hope he was gentle."

"Silence." Byakuya did not move his head. His frozen dark eyes were focused on the horizon, where the sun still struggled feebly against the crumpled gray clouds.

He was answered by a low chuckle and the sound of Zaraki moving, levering himself to his feet. Byakuya relished the irritation he felt, hoping that the large shinigami would push him just a little further. Kenpachi liked to test the waters, to provoke a fight to see which was best. It had always sparked a bit of dormant curiosity in Byakuya. For years, this had been the only thing, save perhaps the obvious and pointless ambitions of his fukutaichou, that had added any spice or interest to the emptiness of Byakuya's life.

"The thing I can't figure is..." Kenpachi scratched absently at the hair pulled tight over his skull, his thumb rubbing carelessly over a strap of his eyepatch.

Kuchiki was not interested in anything he might be wondering. He did not turn.

"Are you some kind of pain junkie?"

It had not been expected, and Byakuya's eyes widened, then narrowed. "What?" he growled.

"See, I've been accused of it myself," Kenpachi drawled, hoisting his zanpakutou up against one shoulder. The damaged length shimmered with the last of the slowing rain. "But what I feel is simple. I love to fight. That feeling of being alive, of being tested with your life on the balance... that's life! That's fun! But you... it's like you get some sick satisfaction out of torturing yourself."

"Please spare me your uneducated and ridiculous theories." Byakuya's voice was wintry.

"You wanted Kuchiki Rukia dead less than anyone, but you even told everyone to their face you'd kill her yourself. Honor, duty, blah blah blah, Kuchiki! You've never been the obedient little captain before. Since when are you afraid to speak your mind and tell the rest of us how backward and dumb we are? Since something you want is on the line?"

"What difference could it possibly make to you, eleventh division captain Zaraki Kenpachi?"

Kenpachi grinned. "Because I liked you," he said, "when you were fucking interesting. And guys who shove nails in their wrists to get off are boring as hell."

It was so ludicrous, and tension had been singing in him for so long, that something completely unexpected happened. Byakuya laughed. It was nearly noiseless, and the curve of his mouth wasn't big, but his shoulders quivered and a short burst of gentle laughter graced the air.

Then Kenpachi laughed and it was a harsh burst of noise, and he slapped Byakuya firmly on the back. Byakuya was caught off guard, and actually pushed forward a step, before he turned with widened eyes.

"What's left of 11th division are busy getting drunk. O-teru's has the best sake in Soul Society. Why don't we join 'em?"

"Apparently you're insane as well as stupid," Byakuya murmured, but after the laughter he was too preoccupied to put his usual sting into the words.

"That's right," Zaraki agreed, in a quite mellow tone. "And seems you're afraid of my men and I outdrinking you as well as outfighting you."

Byakuya's eyes narrowed. "I very much doubt you uncultured swine could tell the difference between good sake and sweat, but very well. Perhaps we'll test both of your assumptions tonight."

"See?" Zaraki laughed, leading the way down a nearby alley. "That's why I like you, Kuchiki!"

"The best sake in Soul Society" was, as Kuchiki Byakuya had expected, largely a matter of opinion. The 11th division preferred warm sake, which should be taken in fast shots and was served so near body temperature that its inebriating effects were quicker. He himself would have preferred a fine cold sake, sipped from an attractive square vessel, over which he could take his time, enjoying perhaps the aromatic scent of the liquor in a place of peace and near-silence.

O-teru's did not seem to be a rowdy establishment at most times. Its servers were clean and smartly dressed, most not overly provocative, and there were a few lonely flower arrangements in the corners. Unfortunately, the place was full of Zaraki's division, more thugs than Shinigami, picked for brute strength and fighting ability rather than the proper balance and discipline. They were raucous, obnoxious and clearly enjoying themselves. All were sporting the same signs of recent injury as Kenpachi and Byakuya, but small fights broke out randomly nevertheless.

The best part of it was that the 11th division fukutaichou was not present. Knowing Yachiru, it could not have anything to do with the lawfulness of her entering a sakeya. Perhaps she simply did not enjoy the taste of sake.

The worst part of it was that Zaraki was clearly going to outdrink Byakuya.

There was simply no question. Once they began laying back the strongly-flavored, hot drinks Byakuya began to feel warm, and were it not for the chaos around him, possibly relaxed. It occurred to him that accepting this particular challenge had been an act of foolish impulse: Kenpachi was known for his stamina and was clearly more used to this kind of drinking than Byakuya. The 6th division taichou considered simply getting up and walking out. The atmosphere did not appeal, nor did the prospect of losing. But something in Zaraki's almost-evil grin made his stubbornness flare. He was not going to give up so easily.

By his tenth cup, Byakuya had begun to care very little how loud the 11th division men were being. He did absently shove one back into a fray when he fell toward them, but other than that, it was quite simple to ignore them and to concentrate on Zaraki. Was the man human? He was not betraying the slightest sign of even mild intoxication.

By his twentieth cup, Byakuya's reflexes were slowing down. He rose to excuse himself for a natural reason, and found that though he could still walk steadily, it took effort to control his body properly. What a foolish thing to have done. What a farce. What difference could it possibly make if he could outdrink a beast like Kenpachi? He was disgusted with himself.

When he re-entered the bar, it was simply to walk right through it. He passed Zaraki without a word. He was, however, unsurprised when the larger man followed him out into the street.

"Is it time for our battle, then?" he asked coldly.

Kenpachi raised his eyebrows. "Right now, bouchama, I think you'd bore the hell out of me. I want to fight you in top shape, not drunk and wounded."

"Of course," Byakuya said. "I had forgotten how much you worship defeat."

"Say that to your mirror, Kuchiki."

"How dare you." He did not shout it. He said it softly, with all the icy intensity of the emotions lost inside him. Byakuya stalked forward and grasped the front of Kenpachi's shredded haori. "You have no understanding of defeat, Zaraki Kenpachi. What is it to you? Being unable to fight further? Dying? Meeting an opponent of greater skill? These things are trivial. It is so simple for you, and I despise you for that. You have no honor, so loss of honor is impossible. You resist responsibilities so you are never responsible for anything you dislike. You have no self-awareness, so you have no self-doubt, and there can never be a moment when you become aware of a hateful thing inside yourself. Why don't you draw your blade so that I can cut you into ribbons and end the pointlessness of your existence?"

Kenpachi stared down into Byakuya's eyes, then calmly replied, "Why don't you drive a few more nails into your palm? What kind of crazy moron martyrs himself like you do?"

Byakuya swung his right fist up against Kenpachi's jaw with all the force in his body. The larger Shinigami's head snapped back, and Byakuya's hand exploded into dull pain as though it had been broken.

Kenpachi smiled. "Hah," he said. "I knew there was a real man under that prissy little bouchama."

His anger was still there, but the energy was seeping out of him like blood. It was as if the tension had finally broken, and there was nothing left to even hold him upright. He sagged, and, refusing to either allow himself to fall in the dirt outside a sakeya, or to be caught by Zaraki Kenpachi like some swooning woman, grabbed Zaraki's haori again and, twisting it in his grasp, hauled himself upright.

"One day I'll show you your place," Byakuya snarled. And then, as if it were some sort of dream, or some impulse he no longer had the control to even analyze, much less resist, Byakuya gripped one of the wire-wrapped extensions of Kenpachi's hair and pulled his head down roughly, lips and teeth closing over the other man's mouth, biting and licking.

Byakuya had never kissed like this. He knew it existed, this anger translated into sex, but he had never allowed himself to feel it. He had only been thinking that Zaraki's smile insulted him, that he wanted it gone, and when the punch hadn't erased it, he had done something else.

But there was a warm sort of pleasure, a heat that filled him slowly, with sex like this, like a battlefield. The world went away. He did not need to concern himself with what Kenpachi wanted, he would just take from that strong proud body whatever he felt like taking.

Kenpachi's hands closed around his waist hard enough to bruise, and the wide rough mouth opened against his, forcing and fighting for control.

But not, Byakuya thought, in an alley-way like some common whore. He shoved back, tasting blood from a cut lip, and slammed the hilt of Senbonzakura into Kenpachi's ribcage. "An inn. Now. Or it's over."

Zaraki shook his head and laughed softly. "And miss the chance to fuck Kuchiki Byakuya? Don't worry, I know an inn nearby."

"I didn't realize you were capable of fucking anyone," Byakuya replied, annoyed at the assumption. "I thought the one sword was in as poor shape as the other."

Kenpachi slammed him suddenly into the wall, biting roughly at his throat. "I bet you're dying to find out if I use them both as well."

Byakuya muttered an invocation and the larger Shinigami was pushed back off of him. "I won't receive, Zaraki. I will not repeat myself."

"Fine, fine," Kenpachi pushed open a nearby door and lead them into a cheap inn. It smelled of smoke and mold, but at the moment Byakuya was not particularly bothered or interested. "You do take the fun out of everything."

Buying the room was a blur. If they had paid or not paid, who Kenpachi had spoken to, left the memory instantly. It was unimportant. The room was unimportant. Clearly there was a bed. Sometimes they were upon it.

Sweat-slicked, clad only in bandages, they bit and kissed, wrestled and even caressed, in long hard touches that felt hot and good but never gentle. Hands grasped firmly the other's erection and pumped, slipping roughly up and down, each trying to hold back the longest until they were forced to admit their pleasure in a gasping and trembling explosion of orgasm.

Byakuya found himself on top of Kenpachi, resting in afterglow, and staring at the numerous scars marking the other man's dark skin like an illegible map. He began to draw his tongue over them, and then his teeth, rising up animalistically, his hair falling forward free of its usual confinement, the scent of the camellia oil he used on it rising up through the room, mixing something like gardenias with sex and dust.

Kenpachi moaned, and Byakuya kept up what he was doing, giving every scar save those beneath the fresh bandages special attention, even the ones on the legs, pushing the other man up to cover his back with nibbles and fingernail touches and the slow hot movement of his tongue.

"I really, really like you," Kenpachi murmured, and something broke inside Byakuya suddenly. He turned the man's head and kissed him, deeply. He let the other lips close over his and the tongue plumb his mouth, sucking on it with abandon.

They were both hard again. Byakuya allowed himself to be swung over Kenpachi, thighs straddling the other man's thighs, so white against his skin. Kenpachi's long hand curved over both their cocks, pressing them together as he rubbed. Byakuya nodded and started to move up and down on his knees, increasing the friction and the pace. His head arched back. Both hands rested lightly on Kenpachi's shoulders. They both began to moan and growl at the same moment, and increased their pace and pressure. Kenpachi's breathing quickened. Byakuya's spine arched.

Kenpachi came first, but the feeling of it sent Byakuya immediately spiraling over the edge, and his cries hissed through his clenched teeth at the intensity of it. Kenpachi sucked and bit at his throat and shoulder again, and he shivered as they fell together.

Byakuya, exhausted, rested there a while and then somehow returned home. He would never have to speak of this, and never regret it.


End file.
